


Just A Diversion

by mr-finch (soubriquet)



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Joker (2019)
Genre: Biting, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Choking, Emotional Manipulation, Erotic Horror, Knifeplay, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:16:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23237404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/pseuds/mr-finch
Summary: The Joker has been hearing rather a lot about this Arthur Fleck and his plans for Gotham. Time for him to find out exactly what kind of man Arthur is.
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Joker (DCU), Joker (DCU)/Joker (DCU)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 73





	Just A Diversion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SenkoWakimarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/gifts).



Joker’s been following this guy for the past three weeks. It’s a little side track, an interesting piece of entertainment to get him by while the Bat slinks off to play with someone else. There’s enough about Arthur Fleck to keep the Joker’s attention: watching him evolve and develop into some new creature, something with _habits_ and a particular liking for guns. All very, very interesting.

What happens when life gets a little too easy for Arthur’s latest incarnation? Perhaps a friendly face slips; perhaps a follower becomes a copycat. Perhaps he doesn’t look too closely at the men behind the masks and Joker can just _insinuate_ himself right at the heart of Arthur’s business.

It’s simple. It always is.

Arthur likes to be surrounded, so he’s never lonely. He has no end of fawning teenagers and boys in their twenties desperately trying to catch his attention. Hanging onto every word he says like it might be their prophecy or give them a hint of what they should do next with their lives.

Joker, generally, doesn’t go in for that. His men are older, harder: they know how to enact his plans. He has little use for them aside from as cogs and bodies. When he needs company, he seeks…

Something like this. Somebody as foolish as Arthur, shut away in the tumbledown room of a derelict motel that he and his cronies have taken over. Thinking he’s so safe, surrounded by lackeys.

Joker lets the last one out of the door late that night and turns the lock - _snick_ \- quiet enough that Arthur won’t hear. The weight of the knife in his pocket would be enough to give him away, if any of these boys were as sharp as their elders. None of them are. None of them have noticed.

He turns to the man on the bed, peeling the mask from his painted face.

When Arthur sees him, he parts his lips in a slightly puzzled little _“Oh.”_ He's shirtless and the shit green dye he uses is starting to wash out, leaving his long dark hair streaked on the pillow behind him with ill-looking tendrils.

Joker doesn’t waste time. He clambers onto the mattress, poised for a burst of energy when Arthur moves - but Arthur doesn’t run. He just tilts his head like he’s curious and turns one thin knee over the other. “You’re not mine,” he says.

That’s an incredible amount of confidence, even for someone with such terrible self-preservation.

Reacting to the unexpected - like he does, like he _always_ does - Joker runs his tongue over the thick scar tissue on his lower lip and keeps crawling closer. “No,” he says, planting one arm on the sheets on the other side of Arthur. Then one knee. “I’m not.”

Arthur doesn’t even look that bothered that Joker’s hovering above him. Maybe a little uncertain. Wondering - Joker’s seen that before - if he maybe _should_ be scared. Especially since Joker’s clearly got both height and weight on him.

“You look… familiar.” Arthur’s eyes squint and he does an interesting little wriggle. It doesn’t feel like an attempt to escape or the desperate internal despair of a man who has realised his death is coming. He’s staring at the Joker’s scars, and one of his hands comes up–

 _Threat,_ Joker’s brain says, but no. The tension is unwarranted. Arthur’s fingertips just follow the brutal line of the scars from the outside of his cheek all the way to the corner of his mouth. Then Arthur giggles.

Usually, Joker has an idea of how a situation is going to go. He is meticulous in his detail, covering every angle, and has enough to fall back on that he very rarely is ever surprised.

But this kid. This… undeniably soft, silly response to his presence. It’s never happened before.

Joker wonders what else Arthur has in the tank. He dips his fingers into his pocket without taking his eyes off Arthur, and turns his face into the light to give Arthur a cutting, show-off grin. “Perhaps you’ve seen me on instagram.”

Arthur seems _delighted._ The laughter bubbles out again, Arthur’s hand rising to his own chin. “No, no, _no._ Not that. You’ve been at the rallies.”

“Have I.” Joker’s thumb runs along the handle of the knife in his pocket, the shape as familiar as a name. He hides it in his hand and places it down on the bed beside Arthur’s shoulder, like it’s not there at all.

“Yeah.” Arthur suddenly looks unsure and that change in his face makes a whip of heat curl in Joker’s belly. “Or maybe–“

 _Flick._ One smooth drop and Joker has the blade in Arthur’s mouth and his other hand pinning the kid’s head back against the pillow. His index finger and thumb bite into the bone of Arthur’s jaw, elbow pressing on his collarbones. “Now,” he says, rough like a whisper. “Let’s start again. I’m not _yours,_ but you–“ Joker breathes, open-mouthed. “–might want to start _considering_ your loyalties.”

Arthur makes a choked noise. His throat is stretched right out and working, but he’s still. Doesn’t want that pretty face all wrecked. _Too bad,_ Joker’s about to say, when Arthur’s knee rises up between them and rubs, very deliberately, over Joker’s crotch.

Hmm. Hm, hm. Joker’s fingers twitch and he increases the pressure, so much that Arthur’s lip slides against the knife and cuts itself. A thin, wet line.

But Arthur doesn’t let up, and he doesn’t thrust his leg up harder, either. Joker would expect a kick to the nuts from anyone who could, just like he would expect this kid to want to kill him - endless list of bad decisions or not. But Arthur doesn’t. He just does another of those infuriating wriggles and sucks in a breath and rubs his knee, ever so boldly, against Joker’s interested cock.

Bastard. And yet, what fun. Joker’s always up for a change in plans, so long as he stays on top. He whips the knife out of Arthur’s mouth and drops his hand down between them, shoving Arthur’s legs open and pinning them there with the weight of his own legs. He keeps Arthur’s head held back, but since he’s interested, Joker wonders if Arthur would enjoy a little more play.

What will he do if Joker presses the flat of the blade to his bare chest? Hitch a little breath and try to draw up his knees. What will he do if that blade winds over to a nipple, circling the pretty pink flesh like it could slice down and part it open?

Well. Arthur gets very hard at that.

What an interesting man; such a funny little boy. Joker sucks a roll of scar tissue into his mouth as he considers the length of that pale, skinny torso. His to mark, if he wanted to.

Perhaps not, looking at how much Arthur wants it. The needy tent in his thin trousers. The flush building on his cheeks. Oh, he’s really enjoying himself. Joker mustn’t be too generous.

He leaves the knife on Arthur’s trembling abdomen and jerks open the kid's fly, pulling Arthur’s pants down as far as they’ll go on his spread legs and picking up the knife again. This time, he cuts through the band on either side of his underwear. Ping. Ping. Arthur’s cock springs free, swollen and leaking.

Hm. Pretty. So pretty.

Arthur is still sneaking in air up where Joker has his head pinned back, which isn’t good. Joker’s hand relaxes - Arthur gulps in a breath - then massages where that flushed skin is going to turn to bruises very soon. It slips down to the meat of Arthur’s throat, where Joker can curl all of his fingers around and hold Arthur’s pulse in his palm.

Arthur looks half-wrecked just with that. Just with that. The trail of blood has beaded down his lip and chin, his cheeks are ruddy red and his eyes are almost wet. And he still doesn’t say a thing.

Joker makes an approving purr, tapping the point of the blade on Arthur’s hipbone. “Good boy.”

There’s a sound then: a soft mewl of need, before Joker closes off Arthur’s throat and stops him breathing for real.

Strangling is such a fierce word for what Joker’s doing here. He knows what it’s like to strangle someone: the righteous fury of two fists crushing the delicate structures of someone’s neck as you clench and break until they’re lifeless, but that’s not his purpose with Arthur. No, Arthur likes it rough, likes not having so much control. That’s what his little lackeys will never understand.

So he closes it off, just for a moment. A meaningful, pleasurable squeeze.

As he does that, as Joker finds that point at which Arthur stops looking tense and starts looking _blissed,_ he runs the flat of the blade up the underside of Arthur’s erection.

 _That_ gets him a jolt. Joker laughs darkly as Arthur tries both to press into and away from the cold steel. The breath that he sucks in on the next release is ragged, almost a groan.

“Weren’t expecting that, were we?” Joker hums to himself as he resettles himself on his knees and runs the blade down to circle Arthur’s balls. He thinks about castrating him; thinks about the people he _has_ castrated, or close enough; he thinks about the silly, silly people who think that two little pearls make a man.

He wonders what _really_ gets Arthur going.

The flat of the blade is only as menacing as the promises it honours. Twisting the knife expertly onto its side, Joker carves a long, thin line up the base of Arthur’s dick. It bleeds, and Joker’s hand jerks away from Arthur’s throat to let him shudder and breathe. A thick drool of precum slides from the tip of Arthur's dick and Joker watches it roll down its owner with something like hunger.

“Arthur,” he says, rolling it around in his mouth. “Arthur Arthur Arthur.”

Arthur wants to respond, but he’s losing it. Joker loves it when they get to this point. Usually, it means the blood loss is taking effect, or the head trauma, or the endless pain, but this– this is just lust. Arthur is losing his ability to hold onto control and is desperate to be given what he desires.

Joker presses his thumb to the cut, getting a hiss and something like a glare when he looks up. Arthur’s throat is red too, now, where the Joker’s hand was, and he doesn’t look too pleased to be able to breathe freely again.

He doesn’t expect Joker to scoot down and lick the length of his cock, lapping up the blood and the salty silt of his pre-cum and taking him deep into his mouth as soon as Arthur’s eyes flutter shut. Oh, he kicks his hips too. He’s that kind of lover. Greedy and needy and so very clear about every single want.

Joker hollows out his cheeks and sucks hard all the way back up. The sensation throws Arthur’s head back onto the pillow and makes Joker laugh quietly as he plants a soft kiss on the flushed, wet head. “Arthur _Fleck._ If the world could see you now.”

“Sh-shut up,” Arthur says, panting into the arm pressed across his face.

“Hmmm.” Joker feels that heat rise in his stomach, coiling and burning like fire. “No.” He brushes the metal handle of the knife against Arthur’s balls, making him jerk. “I don’t think so.”

 _Flip,_ flick the blade around in his hand. Catch a lip of sensitive skin with the point and it bleeds. A red pinprick that swells and runs down Arthur's balls as Arthur makes a gasping noise into his arm. Joker’s voice is deep, but almost mild with his instruction: “Don’t do that.”

After Arthur’s sounds become words, Joker can make out: “I won’t, I won’t.”

 _Good._ It only takes a little attention to create obedience. Everyone, everywhere, has their limit, and Arthur’s - like many - seems to be the useless, swollen sack between his legs.

Hm. Then again.

Joker curls back down, flashing a look up to Arthur to _stay still_ before he presses his mouth over the pinprick he’s made, running his tongue over it to see just how much it teases Arthur. He sucks it into his mouth, revelling in the twitches and hisses. Then he noses up Arthur’s cock, licking along the narrow graze before he reaches the tip again.

On the edge. The guy is right on the edge.

Joker has to admit: one of his favourite things to do is just stand behind and push someone off.

It doesn’t take much. It never does. When someone has walked their way to the top of a cliff, they only ever want a breeze for encouragement. Joker barely has to touch him, pinning his dick down against his abdomen and running his lips in sloppy kisses back down the underside. _His_ side. The side that Arthur will only see when he’s hard.

He opens his mouth quick and sinks his teeth into the skin, clamping down hard enough that Arthur starts to shriek even as he comes, hurting _himself_ as he bucks and writhes and bites the inside of his own arm. He can barely cope, even after Joker lets go, even as he slides back up Arthur’s body and meets his mouth with his own.

Arthur tastes just as good up here. Joker might have to make this a routine.

He leaves him only a few minutes later. His knife goes back in his pocket, Arthur’s blood soaking into the silk. Joker is so hard he's snarling by the time he barges into his own place, scaring the shit out of the idiot who misses him coming and launching himself at the first rent boy he sees.

He fucks him like he’d kill him otherwise.

Arthur, he won’t kill. Not tonight, and maybe not even next time. He can still taste the iron in his blood and hear him beg for another.


End file.
